20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Into the Open

colombe

Birds sound in the birch tree outside my window,
squawks and caws of blue jays and ravens,
the familiar “birdie birdie” of the cardinal,
a “tut tut” from a robin, and the occasional
“hoo hoo” of the turtle dove

They go about their days
never making note of my coming
and going, buildiing their nests,
laying their eggs, hatching helpless
babies with no announcement
of their arrival

Kids find a baby bird on the
sidewalk, hairless, eyes still closed,
too soon outside the protection of
its egg.  They try in vain to save it,
pour water over its tiny body,
baking in the afternoon sun, feed
worms into its gaping mouth, gasping
for its final breath.  They place its body
into last year’s fallen nest and forget
about it, on to enjoy their next adventure

The turtle dove sits on my windowsill
for at least an hour, peering nervously yet
never offering to depart, dark eyes piercing,
she stares, unblinking, and I stare at her,
and together we ponder what to do,
remain here on this ledge contemplating
each other and the world beyond,
or take flight, entrust the wind to carry us
on its back, permit the ground
to soften falls along the way, when,
startled, I break our gaze to look
behind me, and turning back
to my companion outside the screen,
I find that she is gone

©SpiritLed 2014


1 Comment

Spring, Finally

An urchin, infant, tiny new one comes,
but rocking, lurching to reality.
Spring doesn’t sing this year, but only hums
a whispered whistle. Can’t we now agree

that birth has finally, finally taken place?
The daffodils and robins do not lie.
Forsythia, like puffs of yellow lace,
tell us to winter we have said goodbye.


Cycles

Circles of cycles
move me farther from birth,
closer to death.
I do not acknowledge the latter.
Seasons teach me:
Infant blossoms in spring,
full bloom of youth, the summer,
a winding-down in fall, raking up excesses, lowered skies,
then frozen winter.
I know my season,
just as the clock ticks inexorably.


2 Comments

Welcome to the Dance

Welcome to the dance.

It is not for everyone.

You have to be strong.

 

You show your writing,

if you dare, persuade your Muse

to show herself too.

 

Open up a vein -

prepare to bleed on the page

giving Birth or Death.

 

There will be no truce,

not for you nor for your work.

Nor will blood congeal

 

Till veins are empty,

mind and body drained away

energy all spent.

 

This is not your choice

but rather the path chosen

for you to enact.

 

So join if you dare.

There will be no going back.

Welcome to the Dance.

 

 

 

 

 

 


Awaken My Soul

The Lush beauty of this life within myself.

Awaken my soul.

Open my eyes.

I want to see, touch and taste your love.

My womb is filled with a creation that is divine.

My spirit’s doula says “push it’s time”,

so I take a deep breath inhaling courage and exhaling resistance.

My soul has awakened because I have given birth to my destiny.


25 Comments

What’s In A Name?

Daffy Duck, as he appears in The Looney Tunes ...

Daffy Duck, as he appears in The Looney Tunes Show. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) - Also a name I would have agreed to while I was sedated!

I know this is going to be a shocker, but I occasionally choke on the foot I stick in my mouth at times. I thought I’d share one of those bright, shining moments in my life.

When my son DJ was born, he was very, very premature, and due to a loss of a lot of blood, I was unconscious the entire delivery. Because it was a little country hospital, DJ had to be helicoptered to a larger hospital in Dallas, some two hours away. So, when I woke up, my son was not there. Very distressing for a new mother, to say the least.

To transfer hospitals, a child has to have a name on his birth certificate, and normally, the mother is the one that fills this form in. However, because I was clearly out of it, my then-husband, Dennis, had to fill out the form. And being Dennis, he decided to trash the name we’d agreed on — Michael Anthony — for a name that embodied his own family — William Harold. :-(

Now, in fairness to Dennis, he insists that I told him this was okay sometime that drugged night, and I am going to even say that they may have been possible. But I was heavily sedated, so I would have named the kid Daffy Duck or Mickey Mouse at that point. He should have stuck to the name that we agreed on.

It took me a month to heal from the birth of my son, and all along, as I’m talking to my family and friends, I’m calling my baby Michael. Dennis, obviously nervous, says nothing to me, until I’ve finally been released from the hospital and am headed to Dallas to meet my new baby. That is when I find out that my son has been named William Harold Bell. And that Den’s family is calling him Billy Bell. O.M.G. I was pissed. Billy Bell???

Sure enough, there was my absolutely beautiful little boy with a placard on his crib with the horrifying name Billy Bell. Immediately, I made the nurse take it down and put up a placard that said William Bell. I needed some time to fix this, but now wasn’t the time. In the end, I changed his nickname to DJ. It doesn’t stand for anything. I just didn’t want him to be called Billy. Being poor, we were stuck with the name.

Flash forward to a couple of years ago, I was telling this story to some new biker friends of Chef’s (my present husband). In the biker culture, almost everyone uses biker names, so you almost never really know what the people around you’s real names are, and such was the case with the guy I was talking to. His reaction was odd when I finished my story. Slowly, he pulled out his wallet and showed me his identification. William Harrold.

I’d just insulted this man’s name. I totally suck.

Bird

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